


Young Heart, Young Hope

by dawnstruck



Series: Second Chances 'verse [6]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domesticity, Gen, Kidfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: It's time to tell their son the truth.





	1. Revelation

Ten years and Roy can barely remember a different life.

 

There was a coup d'état at some point, and a war before that. There was a young man at a military academy, pointing a rifle at inanimate objects, and later that same young man in a desert, burning people alive. Same but different.

There were cruel beings, monsters from what he still believes to be the deepest recesses of hell, and red stones glinting much more dangerously than red eyes ever could.

A lot has changed since then, less violence, more slow-grinding politics, and he has the paper cuts to prove it. Roy has gotten used to this easy life style, to rising with the sun every morning without dreading what the day might entail.

The sun, in this case, being Edward, all heat and gold, between delight and ferocity.

Lately, though. Lately that has changed, and Ed appears taciturn and moody by turns.

Roy asks and gets no answer. Roy tries to deduce and still can't conclude anything, can't figure out whether he missed an important clue.

It's not the anniversary of anyone's death. Not Trisha's or Hohenheim's or Izumi's or Hughes'. It's not someone's birthday either. For all intents and purposes it is just another week in just another month.

But it's difficult to tell with Ed. Sometimes the things that upset him make him clamp up. Sometimes they make him lash out. For all his upstanding morality and unfailing sense of justice, Ed never seemed to have learned how to properly express his emotions, how to not hurt himself more when he was hurting already.

But that is what Roy is here for. To negotiate, articulate, mediate. To help.

So when, on Saturday, Ed refuses lunch and just shuts himself away in his study, Roy decides that he will wait no longer.

“What?” Ed's voice demands grouchily when Roy has gone upstairs to knock on his door. Roy suppresses a sigh. Fifteen years of knowing him and he had never managed to beat some manners into the brat. Sometimes he still regrets his failure.

“May I come in?” Roy asks, keeping his tone even, not prying, not confrontational. He will only enter if he is welcome.

“... Whatever,” Ed relents and Roy smiles to himself before pressing the handle down, pushing the door open.

Ed is sitting at his desk, but he doesn't really seem to be working, is just kind of staring down at a haphazard mess of lose papers, another sign of how something is wrong. While Roy still needs Riza's stern guidance to keep his workstation tidy, Edward had always been meticulous. Not when handing in military reports, of course, but during his apprenticeship Izumi's insistence upon orderliness must have left a lasting impression.

Gingerly, Roy sits down on the armchair by Ed's bookshelf, folding his hands over his knees. Ed just frowns at him, clearly suspicious.

“Now,” Roy says, not bothering to beat around the bush, “Talk.”

Ed's frown, of course, only deepens.

“What?” he says, his voice flat.

“We promised each other that we would talk about things that bothered us,” Roy reminds him, “So talk.”

For a moment, Ed seems caught off guard that their pact would be turned against him in such a blunt manner. Then there is a fight in his eyes, a fight with himself. Eventually, however, his shoulders slump and his head lowers in defeat. It still takes him another long moment until he is ready to reply.

“Tomorrow,” he says, very quietly, “Al will be the same age he was when the first transmutation failed.”

For a split second there is no meaning to that sentence. But then the words are as a physical blow, knocking the breath right out of Roy. Still, he tries to keep his composure, if only for Edward's sake.

He bites his tongue and closes his eyes, allowing himself to truly understand the implications of that statement, that reality that must have been troubling Ed for the past couple of days.

From now on, everything would be new. Alphonse would grow into someone whose face Edward did not know. There would be puberty and, eventually, adulthood. His voice would change and maybe his personality. One day, Al would be of age. One day, he would leave them to travel, to work, to maybe have a family of his own.

It's no wonder that Ed would be daunted by all that.

There had been instances like that before, little things that still left a great impact. One summer Al decided he wanted to get his hair cut really short and when he had come home like that Edward had been baffled by how different the boy looked.

Then there had been the time when Al had found a dying bird in their garden. He had begged and begged Edward to do something about it, to save the little life, until Ed had gone very pale and the look in his eyes was dangerously distant. Roy had interfered then, had gently explained to Al why nothing could be done and that death was always meant to be a part of life. When the bird had eventually breathed its last, they had held a small funeral together, dug up a tiny grave under the apple tree, and while Roy was teaching Alphonse how to grieve, Ed had locked himself in his study in an attempt to remember how to forget.

“I understand,” Roy says slowly, though for the most part he doesn't.

He had never known Edward's brother as anything but a suit of armor with a too young voice and startlingly gentle hands. He had never looked at Alphonse's real face and thought of anything but his son.

For Edward, there had always been that duality, that binary of what he had been lost and what he had gained. Every day was a reminder of his sins and he had taken it as a part of his punishment, his atonement. Now the clock had finally circled back to midnight. A new day would start. Not a new life necessarily, but a new chapter in it nevertheless. And there was no telling what the new pages might bring.

“What... would you like to do?” Roy asks, patiently waiting for Ed to look at him through the curtain of his hair.

“What do you mean?” Ed asks, slightly delayed, slightly slurred. If Roy didn't know of Edward's dislike for being intoxicated, he would almost assume him to have tried to drown his feelings in alcohol.

“You're upset,” Roy says, “And you're not exactly being subtle about it. Al will catch on soon enough, if he hasn't already.”

He's not trying to push Edward, not trying to make the decision for him. But they had agreed, a long time ago, that this day would eventually come. And now it was here.

Edward's eyes fall shut in pained concentration. When he opens them again, he looks both resigned and resolute. Then he gives Roy a short nod.

It's time to tell their son the truth.

 

The way down the stairs feels almost eternal. Ed is holding on to the banister with clenched fingers, each step seeming to take more out of him. Eventually, however, the inevitable can no longer be postponed.

“Al,” he says, stepping into the living-room, closely followed by Roy in silent support.

Al looks up from where he is sprawled on the floor, drawing a picture of Maple, “Yes?”

“Can we talk for a moment?” Ed asks, and that is such an atypical thing for him to say that Al is immediately on alert.

“What is it?” he wants to know, quickly getting up and scrambling over to the sofa where Ed is settling down uneasily. “Did something happen?”

For the moment, Roy doesn't interfere, just pushes his armchair closer and sits down as well.

“No,” Ed says, shaking his head, “Um, not now anyway.”

Al tilts his head to the side, “But before?”

Before. That little word that has so much gravitas. When Ed speaks to Roy of 'before' it is always painfully obvious what he is alluding to.

Now he just gives a helpless little laugh.

It's not too rare for someone to raise a younger sibling as their own child. But this is different from just telling Al that it wasn't just Roy who had adopted him. This was admitting to everything that had been stolen from Alphonse, his life, his memories, his past. This was Edward revealing his greatest mistake.

“I don't know where to start,” he admits, twisting his hand around the end of his ponytail.

“The beginning,” Roy says, though it is probably somewhat redundant, “Start at the beginning.

So Ed does.

“You know how... how I had a little brother named Alphonse, right?” he asks and Al gives a hesitant nod, ever-aware of the pain in his father's voice.

“And you named me after him.”

“Kinda,” Ed smiles, but it's a fragile thing, “You see, when we were kids, younger than you are now, our mother got really sick all of a sudden. And then... then she died.”

Another nod because Alphonse knows this already and probably doesn't understand why he is being told again and in such a worrisome manner, too.

“Alphonse and I we were... devastated,” Ed says with his eyes closed, as though reliving that feeling all over again, “We didn't have anyone, apart from Winry and Pinako. We were just so alone and we... we wanted our mom.” A stuttered inhale. “So we tried to bring her back.”

Al blinks. “But how-,” he starts and then his eyes widen as he seems to realize what that means. “You tried to use alchemy?” he asks, disbelief and worry and instinctual disgust because most people would know to not go against nature in such a manner. But most people have not known pain like that.

“We did,” Ed whispers, “We had everything there, a perfect array and- and all the ingredients.”

It sounds so macabre, like using flour and some eggs to create a human being. But the outcome is much worse.

“It didn't work, though,” Ed explains, trying to sound matter-of-fact now, like imparting a lesson to his students, “Human transmutation cannot work because the theorem of equivalent exchange becomes messy at that level. It just... it's not fair anymore. You lose more than you gain. So it... it took my right leg as payment. And... and my little brother.”

Al gasps. He had known that Edward had lost his limbs in an alchemical accident, but he would not have been able to imagine that is was something of that caliber.

“But...,” he says, his eyes wide, “I thought he only died later. I thought he died when he was fifteen?”

Ed shakes his head.

“He didn't- he didn't die then. He was taken. So... I got him back. That's how I lost the arm.”

And he raps his automail knuckles against his automail knee.

“And... and that worked?”

Ed shakes his head. “No. It was only enough for his soul. So I did the only thing I could and bound it to an old suit of armor.”

“What? How did- _What?_ ”

“A suit of armor. Pretty big. Um. Empty. But when I attached his soul, he could move around in it and talk and everything. You- you've seen pictures of it, right?”

Al just nods, muted by his confusion, his disbelief. He would probably think this all a bad joke, if Ed weren't so deathly pale.

“S-so,” Al stammers, when Ed fails to continue, “What happened then, what-?”

“That's when your father showed up, actually,” Ed reveals and that's where a bit of fondness and humor slips in, a wry grin directed at Roy, “He lectured me about having fucked up so much. And then he told me to enlist.”

Up till now they had left Al under the impression that Ed's brother had been suffering from the same ailment as their mother, that the whole state alchemist stint was meant to bring in money and resources to help him get better, that they had eventually failed. Now there was a new spin put to that story.

“So uncle Alphonse didn't die of an illness?” Al concludes, “If he didn't even have a body? What happened to him?”

“We... spent four years looking for a philosopher's stone. Or trying to create one,” Ed says, doubtlessly remembering their many struggles even more vividly than Roy does, “Because we wanted to... to get back his body and my limbs.”

A small stuttered breath escapes Al and automatically his gaze drops to where Ed's arm and leg are still obviously missing.

“So it didn't work,” he whispers, “Why...?”

“We eventually got our hands on some red stones.” Ed's fists clench and Roy thinks of Scar and his revenge, of an empty city in the desert. “And we attempted human transmutation again.”

Another strangled noise, but this time Al does not interrupt. Maybe he already has an inkling. Or maybe they will irrevocably destroy his perfect world.

“Al and I had made a promise beforehand,” Ed says, “That if something went wrong this time we would not try to change it. That we would not risk our lives anymore. That we would move on.” A small laugh, bordering on hysteria. “And it did go wrong, it always does. Only, Al didn't die. Instead he was... changed. Transformed.”

“Into what?”

“A child,” Ed says, “A newborn baby.”

A gasp. But then Al's brain is too bright, too genius to keep him ignorant for long, and Roy can practically hear the cogs turns in his head.

“Ten years,” Al's says slowly, “That was ten years ago.”

“Yes,” Ed breathes.

“Are you saying that I'm... I was that baby?” Al demands, “I'm what's left of your brother?”

Edward gives a mute nod. There are no words for this.

Al lowers his head, his eyes frantically zapping around as reality refuses to right itself. Roy waits.

“So you're... you're not really my father?” Al concludes haltingly, but his mind is still razor-sharp and it only takes a moment for him to turn big accusing eyes on both them, “Neither of you is.”

“No, Alphonse,” Roy corrects him gently, “We are your parents. We raised you and we love you.”

“But you didn't actually want me,” Al points out, “I was an accident. A failed experiment. You wanted your brother back but then you got stuck with me.”

“No, that's not-”

“I'm just like Nina!” Al hurls at them, “I was never meant to happen!”

The comparison is, of course, way off. Nina Tucker's fate had been caused by nothing but her crazed father's desperate attempt to maintain his fortune and reputation. He had turned her into an abomination, a creature crippled by constant agony, just like her mother before her.

The two human transmutations the Elrics had conducted, however, had been attempts of salvation. And both times, Alphonse had fully given his consent. There is still a letter stashed away somewhere, with Al's loopy handwriting, absolving his brother of all blame, allowing him to move on.

And that is what Ed had done.

Only their son does not know this. He cannot comprehend that there is so much more to the story.

And how can they prove, truly, that though him essentially being reborn had not be planned it does not equal him being unwanted?

“Alphonse,” Roy says, calm and reasonable though he feels anything but, “I understand that you are upset-”

“You don't understand anything!” Al has jumped up, fists clenched by his sides. There are tears shimmering in his eyelashes and his entire frame is shaking. And Ed can have a fearsome temper sometimes, but that paled in comparison to when Al unleashed his fury.

“Al, please,” Ed says, trying for a watery smile, even though he looks close to tears himself, “Don't take it out on your father, okay? I'm the one who fucked up. He just- got caught in the crossfire.”

“But you both lied to me,” Al insists, “All these years you've been lying to me, like- like I didn't even notice when things seemed _off_.”

“But, Al, you have to understand our position,” Roy says, trying to keep his composure and appeal to Al's logic, “When would have been the right time? You were- you are still so young.”

“I don't know,” Al says, furiously shaking his head, “I don't know anything anymore, I'm not- Am I even a real human? Or a chimera?”

That hurts. That hurts because Roy knows that, at some point, when Alphonse was still stuck in his armor, he had started to doubt the validity of his memories, of his existence. Seeing their son like this, unsure of his place in the world, was a painful thing indeed.

“Of course you are human,” Ed says. His voice is shaking and he has slipped off the couch and is on his knees in front of Al. Making himself small. Begging for forgiveness. “You are human and whole and healthy and- and I loved every little bit of you.”

For a moment, he hesitates, but then reaches out to pat Al's head, as he has always done, then and now. But their world is no longer as it was.

“Don't touch me!” Al hollers and Ed immediately rips his hand away as though burned.

The two of them stare at each other and it's difficult to tell which of them is more shocked by the outburst. Roy holds his breath, hollow.

Eventually, Al lowers his defensive elbows.

“I think... I think I want to be alone now,” he says, very quietly.

And then he is off, running from the room, his small socked feet thudding down the hallway and up the stairs.

“I fucked up,” Ed moans, burying his face in his hands, “I fucked up.”

“Oh, Edward,” Roy says, sinking down next to him, to pull him into his arms, “Give him time. He's confused right now. Give him time.”

Ed's breathing is uneven now, his rib cage jumping underneath Roy's touch, even as he closes his eyes and tries to calm himself. He fails.

“I'm sorry,” Ed shudders out, “I can't- I can't right now.”

And then Ed is freeing himself from the embrace, pushing up and away, leaving the room in hurried strides, his automail leg thudding on the hardwood floor.

It's curious how, despite all their differences, he and Al are so alike in that regard.

Roy is left behind in the living-room. Even the cats have fled. He picks up the scattered pieces of himself, lifts himself from the floor, only to heavily sink down on the sofa once more.

These are the moments in which he misses Maes the most.

When it came down to it, Maes had only been allowed to be part of Elysia's life for five years. Roy had had Al for twice as long now. But somehow, in Roy's nostalgia-tinted memories, Maes would always be the perfect husband and father, infallible in everything he did. He smiles caused the sun to rise and Gracia to fall in love and their little daughter to watch the world without fear.

Roy can only sit here and wonder what to do.

 

It's only halfway through the afternoon but Roy has already started on dinner, just for something to do. The easy motions of cutting up meat and vegetables allows his mind to lull while keeping his hands busy.

Maple has come to keep him company, winding her body around his legs again and again, leaving red fur on his trousers.

Fondly, Roy remembers the day she had been found in their backyard, how a three and a half year old Alphonse had hurried inside and begged to keep her. How Ed had considered it for a moment and then, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, merely said, Ask your father.

They had never acknowledged it in quite that manner before. The focus had always been on Ed slowly accepting that Al was growing up and calling him daddy. Roy had merely been along for the ride, even if their journey would be long.

This, in a roundabout way, had been Ed's unequivocal decision that Roy would be more than that. That they were a true family and that, in a way, they always had been, no matter what anyone else might say or think.

So Roy had sat Al down and explained that the little kitten was a living being and not a plaything, that it might already have a family of its own. And Al had pursed his lips but nodded to show that he understood.

They had put up flyers all over the neighborhood then, asking whether anyone was missing a little red cat. And Al had been miserable with worry because what if someone wanted her back? Or, even worse, what if no one had ever wanted her at all?

In the end, no had come to their house to see the kitten.And thus Maple had been allowed to stay.

“But why was she alone?” Alphonse had wondered that night, with his new friend asleep on his lap, “Doesn't she have parents?”

“Sometimes that's the way things are,” Roy had replied, unsure whether this was really the time to explain death to the boy, “That's why we took her in. Just like Madame Christmas took me in when I didn't have parents.”

“Did she put up flyers, too?” Al had asked guilelessly and Roy had laughed out loud, “I don't think she did. But she had her girls to take care of me, too, so I was never alone. And then I made a lot of friends, like your uncle Jean and aunt Riza, and eventually I met your daddy. Family is less about where you start but with whom you end up.”

“Oh,” Al had said as though he understood. Maybe he did. Children were much smarter than adults in that way.

Only now Alphonse was still upset about today's terrible revelation and surely would be for quite some time to come.   
Time heals all wounds, Roy tries to tell himself but also knows that scarring can be just as painful.

“Roy,” Edward's voice suddenly says and Roy lifts his head to look over to the doorway. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't even heard Ed enter. Maybe it's because Ed looks like a ghost, deathly pale and close to fading.

“Al is not in his room,” Ed says, “I think he ran away.”

 


	2. Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, look at that, this is what happens when you encourage authors with nice comments - you get a new chapter within the next 24 hours.

“What?” Roy says intelligently. The knife in his hand has stilled, much like his thoughts.

“He's not in his room,” Ed repeats, “He's... he's transmuted stairs from the window.”

With a jolt, the cogs in Roy's brain start turning again.

Al was so upset he felt the need to get away. His window led outside into the garden, meaning he must have outsmarted the sentries that were posed outside to protect the Führer's family. Only no one had anticipated that same family to implode all on its own.

Picture-perfect, the papers called them nowadays, because for all intents and purposes they were.

Roy was the benevolent but charismatic leader with just the right balance between pride and humility, Edward his outspoken, upstanding husband whose blatant honesty had won over the populace ages ago, even though he was still considered a thorn in some other politicians' side, while Alphonse was their son, bright as a candle and unfailingly polite.

They were Amestris' figurehead and, despite their initial struggles, they bore their burden, their duties well. Even when smooth sailing was not always guaranteed, Führer President Elric-Mustang always managed to return the ship to safer havens, relying on his friends and family to navigate him through unsteady waters.

Many before had broken under that same pressure. Men who strayed from their wives, who gambled in money and in politics and inevitably lost, who ended up estranged from their children, scorned by civilians, and picked apart by historians.

Roy aims to leave a different kind of reputation. One that does no demand larger-than-life statues of him erected on every town square. Instead, his actions would be cemented in peace treaties and wars that were never fought. A quiet kind of memory, and easily forgotten, but for him it would be enough.

For his greatest legacy would be in the lessons that he taught his son.

“We should... wait it out, I think,” Roy says slowly, “He just needs to be alone for a little while, to comprehend everything. I'm sure he'll come back eventually.”

“He is out there. Alone,” Ed reminds him, sounding terse, but it's better than having to watch him break apart.

“He's ten years old,” Roy points out, “He runs around on his own all the time. Not to mention that he's got his alchemy, Ed, he's more capable of protecting himself than most adults are.”

Fortunately, that is a kind of logic that Edward can't refute.  
“You're right,” he says, giving a curt nod, “He'll probably be back in time for dinner.”

He's not back in time for dinner. It's no surprise, really, since Roy started cooking so early, so he leaves the soup on the stove to keep it warm and then makes his way upstairs.

He finds Edward in Al's room, inanely folding and refolding the boy's clothes, smoothing out creases, picking at invisible lint.

Over the years, whenever Ed needed a distraction from his somersaulting mind, he turned toward those little chores around the house, things that kept him busy so that he could drown out everything else. It was similar to Roy's paperwork, though that still required his mental focus. Ed just shuts down his brain and lets his body act on autopilot.

In moments such as these, Roy is struck by the thought by just how impossibly young Edward still is, only twenty-seven, even after ten years of living together. He looks very young now, very small, like a child playing with the dresses of his dolls.

Ed puts away the last of the shirts and gently closes the drawer. Then he looks up.

“It will get dark soon,” he says.

“I know,” Roy nods, “Let's go look for him.”

 

They start out at the most obvious places, the school, the playground, the well by the market place. Roy had told the guards to keep an eye out for Al, but other than that he has not bothered to call anyone. If Al showed up on Riza's or Jean's doorstep they would surely inform Roy right away.

Which meant that Al had probably huddled up somewhere else or was just walking around on his own. Roy wasn't sure which would make him more difficult to find.

It's early autumn and freezing once the sun is gone, so he and Ed walk arm in arm, for warmth and for comfort.

“I didn't even check if he grabbed his coat,” Ed mutters, his fingers clenching around Roy's sleeve, “What if he catches a cold?”

“He'll be fine,” Roy replies for the umpteenth time, “He'll probably have calmed down by now and gone home. And when we come back, we'll feel like idiots.”

There is that real fear, small but intense, that someone might have recognized Alphonse and abducted him. He was the son of the Führer, after all. However, he was also Edward's son and thus not easily fazed. Not to mention that, even if he had been taken hostage, it would most likely be to demand a ransom. Physically, at least, Alphone was unlikely to be hurt. And there were still other places they haven't looked yet.

At some point, without even agreeing on it, Roy and Ed make it to the train station. It is as busy as ever, but they keep their heads down and no one seems to recognize them. They check the platforms where the daily train to East City is announced, but Al is nowhere to be found. A train bound for Riesembol left two hours earlier, though, and Ed finds a phone booth, nervously waiting for Roy to pluck some coins from his pockets.

“Hey, Win,” he says, slightly turning away from the general noise of the station, cupping his hand around the mouthpiece, “It's me. Yeah, sorry. Actually, this is not a courtesy call, it's... um... Al might show up in Riesembol, so... We told him, Win. We told him and he ran away. Yeah. I don't know. I don't know, he just- You _know_ him, you know how he gets, he was so angry, he hates me, I- We can't be sure. It took me an hour to even realize he's gone and then we waited and we've been looking for a while, so... four or five hours, I think. He could be anywhere. I know. Just... keep an eye out for him; I'll call you if anything changes. Yeah. Thanks, Win.”  
And he hangs up, his hand lingering on the phone before he turns back to Roy.

“He could be on a train,” Ed says, “Or he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere and it would be my-”

“Hey hey hey,” Roy interrupts hurriedly, stepping forward to cup his hands around Edward's face to tilt up his chin and press a quick kiss to his lips, “You're overreacting and you know it. We'll just... keep on looking for a while longer and then see whether he has made his way home. And if not, then I promise I'll mobilize all of our troops to find him.”

Selfishly, however, Roy realizes that it is not his worry for Al that it as the forefront of his mind.

Instead, he has been desperately trying to tell himself that he is not too hurt about Alphonse's assertion that they are not his parents. After all, the words had been spoken in anger and confusion, an injured animal lashing out.

Roy's status in Al's life was essentially unchanged. He was not related to Al by blood but he had taken on the role of his caregiver anyway, had not regretted a single second of it. And yet now he feared that their bond might be irreparably damaged. If Al truly rejected them now, then nothing would ever be as it had been before.

“We've looked everywhere,” Ed points out miserably, “If he wasn't in any of those other places, just stupidly walking around isn't going to help.”

That, unfortunately, is true and Roy can admit to himself that this impromptu search party had rather just been an attempt to give them something to do instead of fiddling their thumbs while waiting at home.

However, there is another resource they had not made use of yet.

“Let's talk to Madame,” Roy says, going for an encouraging tone, though the words sit heavy in his throat, “We can use her network. Maybe someone has seen him.”

Ed gives a somewhat listless nod and Roy cannot even fault him. Central was too big a city for even Madame to sniff out a little kid at a moment's notice.

Going to the bar is still probably for the best. Madame always knew how to point him in the right direction and, even if that failed today, he could still use a stiff drink right about now.

 _The Vintage Rose_ is situated a mere ten minutes from the Central Station, at the outskirts of the entertainment district, strategically located between the opera house, a number of upscale restaurants, and other seedier bars. It's got that air, that atmosphere, like looking at a gorgeous woman in an expensive evening gown but knowing that she is not wearing any underwear.

It's where Roy had grown up, where he had learned from the best, and merely stepping over the threshold is enough to make him feel more at ease.

The light is like burnished gold and the music like a rich wine, a sensory incentive to feel at ease here, to loosen tongue and wallets at the same time.

Immediately, a young woman comes up to take their coats, though other that that she makes no overtures. After all, seeing Roy and Edward here is not unusual. So Roy just thanks her with a nod and leads his husband over to the bar where Madame is already waiting and watching.

“Took you long enough,” she harrumphs with a piqued eyebrow. She sets a tumbler onto the smooth wooden surface of the bar and pours some whiskey, before pushing it toward Roy, not bothering to offer Ed enough who doesn't drink anyway.

But Roy is still stuck on her words.

“Oh,” he says, “I should have realized.”

“You should have,” she grunts, shaking her head, “He showed up hours ago. Wouldn't tell me what the matter is. Which I respect.”

Madame doesn't like not knowing things but she likes it even less to see her adoptive grandson suffer.

“Where is he then?” Roy asks, “Not in one of the backrooms, I hope.”

“Non-sense,” Madame sends him an offended glare, “I sent him upstairs. The girls are taking care of him. Can't have a little kid running around underfoot. It scares away the costumers, you remember? Was the same with you.”

Roy laughs but even he can hear how exhausted it sounds. A moment later, the sudden relief of the pressure really takes its toll. Before his knees can buckle under his weight, he has slipped onto one of the bar stools and downed his drink, concentrating on the sleek burn in his throat. Then he can breathe again.

Edward, on the other hand, is barely holding himself up against the bar counter, his windswept hair falling into his eyes. His shoulders are quivering.

“We should-,” Roy begins, but Ed just shakes his head, burying his face into the crook of his arm.

“He doesn't want to see me,” he says, his voice muffled, “What am I even meant to say?”

In that moment, Roy truly realizes that this is the culmination of all of Ed's worst fears, dating back to their first attempt at human transmutation. Al not forgiving him. Al never wanting to see him again. Al blaming him. Al being in the right.

But they had come here to find their son. They would not leave without him.

“I'll go talk to him,” Roy says and Ed doesn't even nod.

The stairs still creak in exactly the same way he remembered from his boyhood, especially the one right in the middle, but the paint on the railing is splintering off under his palm, like red nail polish.

The upper level is less showy than the bar underneath, but it also feels more homey. This is where Roy grew up and where Madame Christmas still lives. Only the first room on the left is still dedicated to work.

He knocks on the door, waits for a few moments until it is opened by a willowy redhead. When she realizes who she is looking at she sends him a sympathetic smile, glances back over her shoulder and then steps aside.

“I'll do your hair downstairs, Huan,” she says and a second later she is already joined by a shorter woman clad in something that is just a little too revealing to be traditional Xingese garb. The look she gives Roy is curious, but she doesn't say anything, just lifts the hem of her robes as she and the redhead make for the stairs.

Then Roy has to face the music.

He pushes the door farther open so that he can step inside. The smell of perfume in heavy in the air, one wall of the room covered in vanities, the other in clothes racks and fancy fabrics. He's been backstage at the opera before and it looks much like this.

This is liminal space. Here is where the lies are carefully woven together, like sequins stitched on silk, where the actresses rehearse the lines for their next scenes, where it's more make-up and mirrors than the real thing.

But it is also where the masks and the costumes come off, where the stage is just a thought and the truth is allowed to come out instead. Maybe it is quite fitting that they would end up here.

Al is sitting in an open chest, in an nest made of old dresses. He's got a feather boa slung around his shoulders and plum lipstick on his mouth. He does not look over when he hears Roy, just keeps studiously digging through his treasure trove.

Roy pauses for a moment and then goes over to sit on one of the chairs by the vanities. A light bulb on the mirror frame flickers as his knee bumps against the low table and the perfume flacons rattle in warning.

“That color is a bit too dark on you,” he says conversationally, “Purple goes best with either very dark or very light skin. You should try something pale pinkish, to go with your eyes.”

He picks out one of the lipsticks, checks the color against the light. It's a good choice. He turns around slightly, leans over to hand the lipstick to Al without looking. Al takes it.

“I always preferred deep red,” he reveals, “Maybe just because that's what Madame always wore, even back then.”

He unscrews another lipstick, puckers his lips and skillfully applies the paint. It's been years, of course, but he still remembers the days when he had been a little boy playing dress-up with the gentle fuzzing from Madame's girls. The girls were all old women now and the boy had grown to be Führer. Life's journey sure was strange.

“I saw a painting once,” he continues, “Of the Xingese empress Caolimeng. When I was your age, there weren't as many Xingese immigrants around yet and most of them did menial labor. In school, I was teased a lot. They said my parents must have abandoned me because I was just another mouth to feed and that Madame had just taken me in out of pity. I was so- so _angry_ , I wanted them all to just shut up. But I was a scrappy kid, so fistfights weren't really a solution for me. Instead, I started spreading rumors that I was the illegitimate son of Empress Caolimeng, that she had been unfaithful to her husband and that she needed to send me away. Because that made me bastard, but a royal one, and that was good enough for me.”

He checks his reflection in the mirror, picks up the eyeliner next.

“But of course, Madame is Madame, and by the end of the week she had gotten wind of it. I've never gotten a sterner scolding from her.”

He laughs a little, fond at the memory, even though back then he had been close to tears.

“'You're the son of a Xingese whore and and a piss-poor artist,' she had said, 'You were raised in a brothel by a woman who has seen more cocks than the Cretan fleet has ships. If you don't like that, fine, don't. But make something better out of yourself instead of denying your family.'”

He has to use a finger to smooth out his crowfeet before he can apply the eyeliner, sharply curving it upwards. It's a bold look, especially combined with the dark red of his lips, but he rather likes it.

“I thought she was going to put me over her knee then, to really drive the message home,” he goes on, “But instead she showed me the painting down in the bar. The one above the wood-paneling, if you recall.”

It was a beautiful painting, one that had been hanging there for over forty years, of a half-naked Xingese woman sitting by an open window. It had none of the exoticism that many artists favored and, if one looked closely enough, her belly was slightly swollen with child.

“Though I had of course seen pictures of her before, it was only in that moment I realized that this painting showed my mother, and that my father had painted it,” Roy says, smoothly finishing with his other eye, “Because he had gone looking for a muse and she had found him. They never got married but Madame says they were madly in love. Disgustingly so. And that they very much loved me.”

He pauses for a moment, fixes his hair that had been made a mess of by the cold wind. Like this, the resemblance between him and Madame is startlingly obvious. On a whim, he opens the eyeliner again and dabs a faint beauty mark on his chin.

Finally satisfied with his look, he turns around. Al is still sitting his the chest, but he has wiped off the purple lipstick and put on the rosé-colored one instead. It suits him much better.

“What exactly am I meant to make of that story?” he asks petulantly.

“I don't know,” Roy shrugs, “You tell me.”

For a good minute, Al is completely silent, nervous fingers plucking at his feather boa.

“It's not that I'm mad,” he tries to explain at length, “It's not... It's just a lot to take in. I don't think I really get it yet.”

“Yes,” Roy agrees, “And I can't promise you that it will get easier. Your situation in unique and only you can decide what is best for you.”

“I kind of wish you hadn't told me,” Al admits, “But I also wish you'd told me earlier.”

“Back when you were still a baby,” Roy tells him, “We agreed that we would one day tell you. That it is your secret as well. Edward has... always had trouble with lying to you.”

Al sniffs.

“Was I really his brother?” he asks, “We really... grew up together in Riesembol and everything?”

“Yes,” Roys says, “There were many people who loved you. There still are.”

“So everyone knows, huh?” Al says and it's less of a question and more of a statement, “Everyone who knew daddy back then knew me as well. Winry and Gracia and uncle Jean and everyone.”

“Yes.”

“Only I was... I was uncle Alphonse. …Am I just like him? Am I-”

“There are similarities, of course. You look very much like he did, though... he had the armor. Your voice is the same.”

That, Roy thinks, is usually what must be most difficult for Ed to handle. Because for the longest time that had been the only thing left of Al's physical form.

“He was a great alchemist, smarter even than Edward in some ways,” Roy continues with a fond smile, “Unlike him, very polite, though. He liked... adventure novels and cats. That's why we got Dandelion, actually.”

“So you just treated me like a copy,” Al concludes darkly.  
“Not a copy,” Roy hums, “A twin maybe. We expected similar things of you while at the same time trying to figure out differences. In the beginning, we sometimes got you confused. But over the years it has become much easier to tell you apart. You have... the same blood, doubtlessly. But your lives ended up being very different.”

“Because I was raised by you.”

“Because you were an only child and grew up with both parents. Because you live in the city and are the son of the Führer President. Because you have Maple and Dandelion and that scar on your lip when you sneezed and slammed against the corner of the dinner table when you were a toddler. You are Alphonse Elric-Mustang and don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Al lets out a heavy, drawn-out sigh, “Can't we just pretend this entire day didn't happen and you never told me any of this?”  
“Not quite,” Roy says seriously, “Because your father is sitting down there at bar, trying to keep it together. He thinks you hate him. And he thinks he deserves it.”

Immediately Al's eyes widen. He looks stricken to the core, even more so than when he had found out the truth.

He doesn't say anything then, just scrambles to his feet and jumps out of the chest before scrambling to the door, feather boa dangerously trailing behind him.

Roy is already up as well, following close on his heel, holding on to the railing as they thud down the narrow stairway.

The noise is enough to have alerted everyone to their return and when Roy's gaze sweeps over to the bar it is just in time to see Edward raise his head, looking utterly desolate, even has his eyes find Alphonse's.

“Al,” he says, whispers.

Al opens his mouth and at first only a tiny breathless sound comes out.

“Daddy,” he replies before crossing the last feet and practically lunging himself at Edward.

As if on eternal instinct, Ed's arms come up to close around him, flesh and automail, the epitome of his dedication and sacrifice, pulling him up into his lap and steadfastly holding on.

At the sidelines, Roy is aware of the other patrons in the bar who must surely recognize the Führer and his family, but he honestly does not care. Let them think what they may. He'd handle the press later.

“I'm sorry for shouting at you,” Al is saying into Edward's hair, “And I'm sorry for running away.”  
“It's okay,” Ed shushes him, rubbing a hand over his back, “It's okay, I don't mind, it's okay.”

“I shouldn't have said those things,” Al continues anyway, “I didn't mean any of it. I was just confused. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Al,” Ed breathes, pressing a kiss to the crown of Al's head, “Even if you hated me, I'd still love you.”

“Father and I talked about some things,” Al reveals, “And... and before that, I thought a lot about everything, too.”

He takes a deep breath, gathers himself.

“You lost a leg and then you still managed to soul-bind me, right?” Al asks, “That must have hurt.”

Ed doesn't say anything, just gives a wan smile, threading his fingers through Al's thick hair.

“Thank you, daddy,” Al says.

The smile turns bewildered, “F-for what?”

“Everything,” Al says simply and buries his face against Ed's chest.

“Need another drink?” Madame Christmas asks from behind the bar.

“No, thanks,” Roy says, though he still feels somewhat shaky, “I think I'm good.”

He steps closer, puts his palm over Ed's hand on Al's head, intertwining their pinkies and making Edward glance up.

At once, Ed blinks, then frowns, some of the pallor fading from his face.

“Roy, why the fuck are you wearing lipstick?” he asks, obviously caught off guard by the sight.

“To kiss it better,” Roy says and proves it, leaning down to leave a red smear against Ed's mouth.

After all, the color had always suited Edward extraordinarily well.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me where the make-up thing come from. That just... happened. I simply love the idea of Roy growing up with a ton of older sisters who teach him their womanly ways and him just rolling with it. Also, I think he would look very pretty.
> 
> I would like to take this opportunity how happy I am to see that people are still following this series. New readers are still joinining and some people have beeing commenting since the very beginning and that is honestly just mind-blowing. I really hope that I'll manage to keep you entertained.
> 
> The next installment will be called 'Red Sun, Red Silk', set in Xing, featuring sly emperor Ling Yao and Roy trying to come to terms with the concept of aging. Fun. :D


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